


On belonging

by Canthre



Series: Bartimaeus works [4]
Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Angstfest, Bartimaeus is only happy in my AUs, Bartimaeus/Ptolemy - Freeform, Gen, If you squint and tilt your head, pre-The Amulet of Samarkand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canthre/pseuds/Canthre
Summary: Words on paper fade and paper turns to dust. Memory offers no such reprieve.
Series: Bartimaeus works [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/896340
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Bartimaeus Fic Exchange 2020





	On belonging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarragonthedragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarragonthedragon/gifts).



Weird how nostalgia can hit you out of nowhere, isn’t it? One moment you’re doing your tasks[1] and the next – bam, it caught you. Nostalgia. Longing. Sadness.

Sometimes it’s even for a known reason. Right now I am looking at a copy of Ptolemy’s sole manuscript. Words I know so well[2].

‘How did you get here?’ I softly ask the manuscript. Yes, I know, foolish thing to do, but fortunately nobody is around anymore. The library is a little bit dusty, and quiet. Huge windows let the evening sun inside, and as such it’s not dark in here, either. Ptolemy would have loved it. ‘And how can I get you back where you belong?’

*

‘How can I get you back where you belong?’ Ptolemy muttered under his nose. I looked up from where I was searching the pond for peculiarly colored fish[3]. Ptolemy was sitting in a scribe’s pose in the usual spot and was scrunching his nose at the papyrus in his lap[4]. The day was a beautiful one – sunny but not too hot. Fish swimmed rapidly around the stems of lotuses like bright clouds in water. Ptolemy’s quarters were near the gardens and so the air was filled with the scent of jasmine and chrysanthemum and rose, all mixed together with incense he used for his summons. 

‘Back where?’ I asked, ‘And who is it that is so lost, apparently?’ Ptolemy inclined his head to me but didn’t look up. When he also failed to answer me I stood up and went over to brush myself against him. He hummed slightly and petted my dark fur.

‘What is it?’ I inquired digging my claws gently into his knee. Ptolemy sighed and said, ‘Well, one could say I am talking about _you_ , Rekhyt… but also a bit about myself. Maybe,’ he added with a bit of a frown.

‘You don’t have to work hard to send me home,’ I said, ‘Dismissing a spirit is pretty easy – you know, say a few words and done. You’ve done it before.’ Really, he was making a fuss about simplest things. But that was Ptolemy for you – always looking for more, even when sometimes there was no need to add to perfection. And dismissal was every spirit's favourite part of visiting Earth[5]. I returned to my place beside the pond and swished my tale at Ptolemy to let him know he was being silly – understandable, considering his young age, but that’s why he had me.

‘Yes, yes, Rekhyt, I know I’ve done it before! But this isn’t about dismissal. Say,’ he stood up and started to pace, ‘Can you tell me again about the Other Place? About the… shared mind, you said? How does it feel?’

Ptolemy was full of such questions. Not many mortals asked them – in fact, he was the first human to ask me[6]. I have heard of humans interested in the Planes they could not see, and even the homeworld of the spirits, and the origins of human-spirit contact were… non violent. But that was a long time ago: before magicians arose among mankind for the sake of their own power and glory.

But, then, power and glory meant little to Ptolemy. I liked that about him.

‘The Other Place is… not like here,’ I started. Ptolemy sat before me and looked at me unimpressed. I bristled, just a bit. It wouldn’t be dignified to walk around looking like a lightning struck furball. ‘It’s not easy to explain, and not easy for you to understand,’ my tone was accordingly haughty. I could see that Ptolemy had to fight down a smile. He nodded, though and urged me to continue.

‘The Other Place is – not a place, not like you think of a place,’ I said after a moment of consideration. I wanted him to understand. Ptolemy gave me freedom and companionship – I could ask him to send me away. But his eyes were warm and when he laughed I felt like laughing with him. Why would I ask today? There was always tomorrow. I gestured to the pond beside us, ‘Think of a pond, no matter how big or small. Now imagine being a fish in that ocean, always moving but without real purpose. You don’t have to fight or hunt, you don’t need to think about the surface – in a way there is no surface at all! Just you and the water and existence. Time matters not. There’s no time at all. There’s no purpose. Thoughts are… difficult. You remember who you are,’ I added quickly as Ptolemy opened his mouth to ask something, ‘Of course you do remember, you’re yourself but your self _doesn’t matter_.’

‘You are so – bright,’ Ptolemy said suddenly. I stopped my speech – this wasn’t a comment I was expecting. And he was looking… sad, somehow, ‘Bright?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said slowly, his eyes deep and intent. Something was… Well, I changed. Gone was the cat and in his place the Sumerian warrior sat. I whisked some imaginary dust from my skirt and settled. Ptolemy waited until we were looking eye to eye before continuing, ‘You are so bright and cheerful. When I first learned about spirits I heard the words _demon_ , and _unfeeling_ , and _inhuman_. But you,’ and here he smiled, ‘you are so very real.’

A small part of me frowned at that. When I thought of myself I saw… well, an elegant and sophisticated being, a crème de la crème of djinn family. Not something akin in description to a human. We, the spirits, were beyond mortal comprehension.

A much, much bigger part of me preened[7].

‘Well, I am a being born of pure perfection, you see,’ I said gently, ‘The Other Place is an Origin of… everything, in a way.’

‘Yes. And I can see you’re the picture of modesty, as well,’ Ptolemy said. I flicked some water at him in retaliation and he returned the favour quickly.

Later, when the sun was setting and the cold was getting colder I helped Ptolemy build a small fire. Our shoulders touched during the work. I added a bit more of wood to the fire that was strictly necessary, perhaps, but Ptolemy was prone to shivering at night. There were only so many times I could keep him warm myself, was what I told him.

Ptolemy was rolling up his scribe mat. His inner quarters were small for one of royal origin, but he didn’t complain. As long as he got enough sun to read and write he was content. We often strolled away from the palace during the day – honestly, the boy could work almost everywhere[8]. But the evening routine was always the same. Fire. Soft patter of feet moving around the room, stowing everything into it’s rightful place.

‘Rekhyt?’

‘Yes?’

‘Is it better than this world, this Other Place of yours?’

I considered my answer for a moment. Ptolemy sounded serious, even more so than previously. ‘It’s different,’ I said truthfully. 

‘Aren’t you afraid, sometimes?’ he asked then, ‘Afraid of losing yourself in all that water?’

‘No, not really,’ and that was true as well. Letting go was beautiful – nothing in the mortal world could compare to the taste of freedom and understanding. ‘Aren’t you afraid that all your work will be redundant at some point? That your entire life could lead nowhere?’ I countered. And yes – it had a point. That uppity cousin of his was causing some trouble, again. Ptolemy looked at me questionigly and I shrugged, ‘The servants gossip.’

‘It’s no matter. My work… it can change everything! I can rewrite the entire relationship between the spirits and humans. And I am so very, very close…’ he said thoughtfully, ‘But it’d be only the beginning, so I suppose… it would have to be discarded at some point. The Other Place, where you come from – once I wondered if it’s where the dead move on-’

‘No,’ I interrupted him[9]. He nodded at that.

‘Yes, I realize it was a foolish belief. But you made me wonder about it all the same – what do we look like at the level of spirits and souls? How different are we? How much is there ’ he sat beside me near the fire and I wished I had answers for him. There wasn't that much knowledge in the Other Place for me but Ptolemy saw everything so _differently_. I could only say, ‘I wish I could show you.’

Ptolemy smiled at me.

‘Maybe,’ he started hesitatingly and took a breath before continuing, ‘Maybe we could do it.’

Ptolemy was, with no bias or exaggeration, the greatest magician of his time.

‘Well, I’ll gladly play host for you, then,’ I said, ‘And you’ll see there’s nothing to fear.’

I meant it.

*

I meant every word I said to Ptolemy – but it didn’t save him, after all.

I also wanted the Other Place to welcome him – but it didn’t bring him joy like it did to me.

The sun is setting and air is growing cold, but there is no fireplace in this library, only dust. I finished the job the master of this place – Absolem? Abbadon? Something like that, utterly pretentious – bidded me to do. Glancing at the cover of the manuscript in my tanned hand I can see faint annotations, no doubt notes taken by some magician who read Ptolemy’s legacy. The ink is faded but the first note is clear enough:

_Interesting thesis. Theoretically doable by reversing the summoning circle… Not applicable to real world... Dream sequences are unintelligible – possibly a side effect of untested summoning ingredients. Purpose unknown… Essentially useless._

I put the book back on the shelf, where it belongs.

[1] Menial, tedious, and generally beneath your dignity

[2] And even suggested some! Ptolemy was the greatest of magicians and he took my advises very seriously

[3] I’m not overly fond of mortal food, but a cat disguise comes with some obligations, all right?)

[4] He looked like a cat with that expression! To this day I’m not sure why he laughed when I complimented his skills on impersonating cats.

[5] I can atest, from experience.

[6] And what a splendid decision! We, djinni, are the best conversationalist of the whole lot. You won’t hear anything worthwhile from imps or foliots. Afrits lack figurative brain cells to make up for their figurative muscles. Marids are… weird. Don’t summon marids, is my advice.

[7] Listen, it was hard not to when Ptolemy looked at you this way. Well, at me. I’m sure he wouldn’t have looked at _you_ that way. Nothing personal, but I am – in fact – a wonder to behold!

[8] No, I don’t lie (as that would be below my dignity). Field full of workers? Great. Public terms? Why not. The middle of the marked, chickens running circles around his legs and the merchant screaming into his ear to stop using his stall as a scribe table? Truly an inspiring moment!

[9] Hoardes of dead mortals would be hard to miss.

**Author's Note:**

> #BartimaeusForInfiniteSadness2k20


End file.
